Drawn to the Flame- Book 1 Council of the Light Series

-The Death of the Pendragon -

Morag's leathery wings beat in time with Siberia's racing heart. The storm clouds had the scent of blood and the static feel of lightning.

"Where are they!" she cried.

The Dragon didn't reply, she didn't need to.

Circling, ever circling, but where were her kin? She had called them, but they had not come.

A clap of lightning shot past her shoulder. Morag banked into a dive; below she could see a massing army. Thousands of troops loading sky bows with net slingers and Blood Iron chains. A portal yawning wide in a bubble around a black stone birthing more and more of the sky defences. A portal made of obsidian glass, an abomination with a blue glow in it's centre, drawing down a monstrous power that had no right to exist in this reality.

How? She kept asking the same question. How?

She'd laughed at the portal's creator when he said he had done it. She thought he had been bluffing. That he had made something that was so pathetic it could move an apple a few hundred yards. Not this. Not this.

Morag banked again and let a jet of white hot fire punch the ground; it hit the air shield, rippled across the top but made the smallest amount of damage. The Dragon rose again.

How dare he meddle with that power.

Woman and Dragon shared the same anger. Siberia felt Morag's wings angle up, pressed down on the air, climbing, each swipe taking them further away from the range of the-

Sky bolts hissed past her. Morag veered left, tucking in her wings to avoid the net that followed.

"Up!" Siberia screamed. "Up!"

"Silence," Morag's voice was everywhere at once. She fell silent. Looking behind so the Dragon didn't have to. They shared the same sight.

Another bolt, trailing a net, but they were out of range and Morag's wings stretched as they started to circle again.

"Lord Blackember said-"

"Blackember said a lot of things," Morag growled. "And now Blackember is dead."

Siberia hissed frustration through her teeth.

Where were her Kinfolk?

The storm was vicious; wind blasted the hair from her face, pulled the Dragon off course as rain hit into her leather and fur like ice cold needles. Her fingers couldn't feel anything and all that she could smell was the static of the lightning and the iron stench of blood.

"We called them. Why don't they come?"

"We called," Morag assured her. "But did they hear?"

Siberia turned her face to the clouds, the thunder rumbling across the sky like a stampede of horses. Could the Dragons hear their leaders cry for help with the power of the storm raging?

"If they will not come we must destroy it ourselves." Morag told her. "You know it."

Suicide.

"We won't get through their shield."

In response Morag dived again. Siberia felt her knees glow with warmth. She could feel the power growing. Growing until Morag struggled to hold it in. The soldiers, the army below, the portal and the sky bows, all focused on them. Morag waited, until they were so close she could see the white of the horses eyes as they rolled into their skulls. Ignoring the thrum of the sky bolts and the hiss of the arrows as they missed by inches.

"Now!" She screamed as Morag let loose a tremendous jet of fire. The defences shivered, blue cracks split through the air. The Dragon's wings spread wide, catching the air, rising again. Frantically they climbed higher, higher out of the range of the sky bows. Circled again. It wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough with fresh reinforcements coming through that portal to keep the sky defence fresh.

"We have to run," Morag cried. "We have to warn the Council and raise the Red Crypt."

Siberia felt hot tears of frustration. "We need to destroy that thing!" she screeched.

"No."

Though she felt the outrage of being unable to destroy the abomination below on her own, she saw the sense in Morag's decision. Without another word to each other the Dragon turned right- sensing where the fabric of the world was thinnest so that they might cross away from this place to another.

The cloud birthed a deep black shadow. Claws ripped through Morag's wings. Fangs tore at her throat.

Flying turned to falling.

Morag's breath burned her arm; she hardly had time to form a shield against it.

The creature, red eyed, stinking of decomposed flesh, wrapped its tail around Morag's wings and pinned them as it tore chunks from the Dragon. Siberia screamed with the same pain, every sensation shared. Every bite, every rip, every tear, she felt it all.

The ground was growing to meet them. The creature took one final bite and let go. Siberia gasped for breath as her vision turned red "Get to the moot-" She whispered as her legs uncurled from the Dragon. She watched as Morag was consumed by her own fire, burning with the power of a thousand suns, turning the iron rust of the sky white for a single moment. The Dragon disappeared and Siberia thought it was the most beautiful death she had ever seen. Then she slammed into the ground.